


Tales from the Tower

by TheRedMenace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Does This Count As Crack Treated Seriously?, Everyone Gossips About Everybody, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Avengers Are Good Bros, The Bitch Brigade, This Is Possibly the Most Ridiculous Thing I Will Ever Write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedMenace/pseuds/TheRedMenace
Summary: Steve and Bucky's fake[ish] relationship is still unnamed after three years, to the eternal annoyance of the rest of their friends.  Tony fails harder at asking Pepper out than he fails at inventing a robot without causing at least three explosions.  Coulson has never met anyone who can bungle paperwork harder than Clint.  Natasha does not have the patience to deal with these morons.  Darcy has no idea how this is her life, but they tip too well for her to throw them out of the bar.





	1. Nameless Ships Cannot Sail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bayberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bayberry/gifts).



> I have a deal with myself. When I’m having a really shitty stretch of mental health, I write it out. Angst, fluff, doesn’t matter what fandom or genre, I just need to write it out rather than try to keep it all on lockdown. Recently, I decided to dedicate an entire story to that endeavor; make it the thing I turn to when I need an escape.
> 
> That story is this, the thing you are now reading.
> 
> It will be updated very erratically [but knowing my scumbag brain, probably relatively frequently]. While I definitely have ideas for things to write, this story will not have a plot, per se. I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on myself. I just want to mess around with my favorite idiots in this ridiculous AU I’ve crafted. Unlike pretty much anything else I will write ever, I am perfectly happy to take requests for this story, provided I can work them into the general premise.
> 
> As always, this is dedicated to Enablers Alpha and Beta, the Steve and Sam to my Bucky. Particularly Satan Sam, who kept egging me on with more ideas for this lunacy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony refuses to accept a nameless ship. Darcy really has no idea how this became her life.

“Nuh-uh.  Nope.  Nyet.  Nein.  Nada.  Not gonna happen.”  
“For fuck’s sake, Stark-”  
“No.  Nothin’ doin’.  You cannot make me.”  
“You sure about that?”  
“I am immune to your dubious charms, Barton, fuck back off to the circus you rode in on.”  
“You’re being a child, Stark.”  
“Bite me, Romanoff.  No, literally.  You can bite me anywhere, anytime.”  
“You would not enjoy that.”  
“I’m willing to take that bet.”  
“Your funeral.”  
“I still think-”  
“Oh fuck you, Banner.  You are my Science! bro and I love you like the brother I never wanted, but I am not accepting _Stucky_ as a ship name.  That is stupid and dumb and frankly I’m insulted that it was even brought up for consideration.  By you.  Really, this is a betrayal of our deep and profound bromance and I am going to break up with you for it.  I swear to Newton I will make Foster my new Science! bro, I am not even lying right now.”  
“Charmed, I’m sure.”  
“My god, she speaks!  She’s aware of a world outside _The Astronomical Journal_ \- ow!  Foster!  Purple nurples are unnecessary and beneath you.  Kinky though, did not know you were into BDSM.  Thor is a lucky man.”  
“Aye, that I am.”  
“It was entirely necessary, and I’ll thank you to stop imagining my sex life because you’re not doing it justice.  Also, give in to the Stucky.”  
“No!”  
“Tony, it’s a portmanteau, you’re supposed to-”  
“Does it look like I care?  No, really Brucie baby, look at my face.  Is this the absurdly handsome face of someone who’s willing to put up with that bullshit?”

Not for the first time, Darcy Lewis wondered how in the hell this was her life now.

To be fair, she rushed to console herself, none of this was her fault.  She hadn’t even known these clowns when all this nonsense got started. 

She had been perfectly happy and innocent… well okay not _innocent_ , but still…  She had been minding her own business, bartending at The Tower to help pay her way through Culver University’s Political Science combined Master’s/Ph.D. program.  The Tower was objectively the best of the three bars in the college town of Kirby.  Baxter’s was the loud, shiny club where all the frat bros congregated, smelling up the place with their Axe cologne and general douchebaggery.  Meanwhile, Xavier’s was a hot mess of constant staff turnover and wild shifts in theme nights [plus, they had that whole issue with Genosha, the trendy new restaurant next door, trying to steal all their customers].  The Tower, by contrast, had a steady group of regulars who didn’t start bar fights most of the time, and where everyone just wanted to hang out and do their own thing.  Darcy wasn’t required to wear lingerie or swimsuits, or flirt with customers to pour drinks, which she appreciated, and when things got slow her adorable little old man of a manager, Stan, didn’t mind her pulling out her textbooks.  Encouraged it, actually; he liked to say with a fond smile that he couldn’t afford the kind of trouble Darcy would attract if she got bored.

And that.  That right there, Darcy considered, was how she’d gotten drawn into this insanity with those idiots in the corner booth.

They’d been coming to The Tower for the last few years.  It had started, as most things somehow did, with Tony, who had [God knows how] gotten the idea that this was a coffee shop and been very angry when he was told he was mistaken, but who had legit _squealed_ when he realized he could get his hands on decent scotch, and had been a fixture ever since.  He’d started dragging his entourage here, first in ones and twos, until somehow there was a whole crowd of them swinging by several times a week.  The cast varied every time, but by now Darcy was familiar enough with the rotating regulars that she could predict who would be in as well as where the missing members of the merry band were on any given night.

Come to think of it, she should probably be concerned about the state of their livers.  She wouldn’t, of course, because for all his many faults Tony was a _fantastic_ tipper and she’d like to remain employed, but still.  Even for post-grad students, it was somewhat worrying how much inventory they could go through in a night.

Jesus, she was going Mom Mode Activated on her best clients.  Get your shit together, Lewis.

Anyways.  For a while they had just been clients, and Darcy had just served them their drinks and their buffalo wings like everybody else.  But when you’re around a group of people this often, and they’re all such snarky assholes…  She’d gotten invested, alright?  These people were legitimately coocoo banana pancakes, but somehow she’d gotten to know all about [among other oddities] Tony’s semi-frequent robotics disasters and scientifically impossible ability to make anything catch on fire, and Clint’s utter inability to make it through a day without at least two minor injuries, and Jane’s struggles against the absolute patriarchal academic bullshit going down in the astrophysics department…

“Fuck you all, Stucky sounds like something an annoying kindergartener says.”  
“So perfect for you, then?”  
“Piss off, Romanoff.  I am _at least_ as annoying as a seven-year-old.”  
“Point.”

…and the ongoing, all-consuming drama of the How the Hell is This Pairing Still Unnamed We’ve Been Arguing About This for Months Now saga.

“I thought you people settled on WinterShield,” Darcy commented.

She sashayed over to them, easily balancing the heavy tray full of their usual drink orders.  She smiled up [and up and _up_ ] at Thor as he leapt out of his seat, stretching out to help her balance the tray while Nat and Sam cleared away the last round of empty baskets and pitchers.

“No, Minion, _you_ settled on WinterShield,” Tony refuted.  
“What have we discussed about calling me _Minion_?” Darcy asked with a [mostly joking] sneer.  
“You said something or other that I didn’t pay attention to,” Tony said airily, waving a dismissive hand.  “And I still maintain that WinterShield is a stupid name.  Though not as stupid as fucking _Stucky_ ,” he sneered, spitting out the portmanteau like the dirtiest of curses.  
“WinterShield is still my vote,” Thor nodded, double-fisting new, overflowing baskets of hot wings [Darcy couldn’t be blamed for taking a moment to enjoy the view.  Rugby was doing Thor’s biceps – and Darcy’s libido – damn good, oh yes it was].  “Tis poetic, think you not?”  
“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” Sam scoffed, grabbing the beer pitcher before Clint could drink from it.  “It’s too classy for those idiots.”  
“Pretty sure James’ Kahn scholarship argues against being classless,” Nat replied in defense of her adopted brother, the barest trace of pride in her dry delivery.  “Poetry is pretty classy.  Steve, though.  Steve I will concede.”  
“Psht, Steve doesn’t need class,” Darcy refuted, propping a hip against the side of the banquet seating.  “Not as long as he keeps wearing those tiny, tiny shirts.  He puts my rack to shame and I’m not even mad about it.”  
“Don’t be drawn in by the shirts, Darcy-girl,” Clint advised.  “Your heart will be broken by his obliviousness, you know this.”  
“Too late for me,” Darcy said cheerfully.  “I am in.  I am so fully in, and I do not understand how.  I thought I leaned on the girl side of bi, but here I am.  I blame Tasha.”  
“I accept this,” Nat said with a regal nod.  
“As you should,” Darcy nodded, carefully telegraphing the movement before patting Natasha’s shoulder.  “Where are the lovebirds, speaking of?  I haven’t seen them in like two weeks, what the hell.”  
“James picked up a night shift in the tutoring lab,” Natasha replied.  
“Three hours to write another dozen love poems to Steve’s abs,” Tony smirked, raising his scotch in a lazy toast.  
“You will not steal his notebooks again,” Natasha stated mildly, pinning Tony down with a cool gaze as she delicately fingered the steak knife buried in half of her burger.  
“Party pooper,” he muttered, but wisely shut up as Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.  
“And Steve took over Pepper’s gallery shift so she could go out to California for a few days,” Sam reported, quickly moving the conversation along.  “Her sister’s adoption finally went through, she went to help babysit the older one while Georgia and Caroline get the munchkin settled in.”  
“Oh hell yeah,” Darcy grinned, bouncing in place as she clapped her hands.  “I’ll have to text her to say mazel tov.  I bet Sasha’s bouncing off the walls.  New siblings are the best.  So pure.  So ripe for the spoiling.”  
“Are you _sure_ we’re not related?” Tony asked, cocking his head to the side as the rest of the table snickered.  
“Are you doubting Helen’s Science!, Stark?” Darcy asked, raising an eyebrow.  “We had her run the DNA test three times, just to be sure.  Besides, don’t you think if I was Howard’s love baby that I’d have spent all his hush money to cover my student loans and wouldn’t be slumming it here?”  
“Oh, don’t even pretend, Lewis.  You love it here.  You called us your baby ducklings and said you’d never be able to graduate until we all went with you because you couldn’t trust us to survive on our own,” Jane commented, glancing up from her scientific journal to grace Darcy with a beaming smile.  
“Foster, stop dropping hints that I might have a heart,” Darcy chided her best friend as she set a special order of spicy fries liberally coated in honey in front of her.  “Put down the journal and eat.”  
“But-” Jane protested.  
“Nope,” Darcy said unrepentantly, plucking the journal out of Jane’s hands and pointing firmly to the fries.  “Eat now.  Eviscerate Collins for his inaccuracies and plagiarism later.”

Jane pouted, but gave in with bad grace, her frown smoothing out as she shoveled the first mouthful of fries into her mouth.  Thor smiled at Darcy in thanks, draping a heavily muscled arm around his pint-sized girlfriend’s shoulders.

“For serious though, why is this even still an argument?” Darcy asked, quickly glancing over her shoulder to make sure none of the other half-dozen customers scattered throughout the Tower needed any refills or attention.  “Haven’t they been together for, like, ever?”  
“Three years is not forever,” Sam scoffed.  “However much it feels like it.”  
“That’s only how long they’ve been married though,” Darcy refuted.  “Then add all that time together in the Army, and school before that-”  
“You can’t count school, they weren’t together then.  Just pining,” Clint countered.  “Army doesn’t count either, they were just-”  
“Mrs. Rogers and Captain Barnes, from what Monty’s told me.  One mind in two bodies, Mom’ing and Dad’ing the whole unit,” Darcy cut him off.  
“When did you and Monty start talking?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes at Darcy’s wicked smirk.  “Why did I even ask.”  
“Because you can’t help but watch my sexual car crashes,” she replied, patting Sam’s cheek while returning Tony’s fist bump.  
Sam shook his head, redirecting the conversation back to his futile argument.  “Still not official.”

Darcy, Nat, Thor, and Tony all scoffed, and even Bruce shook his head.

“They were totally together, even if it wasn’t official,” Darcy stated.  “I didn’t even know you clowns then, and even I know this.”  
“I agree with my birdy bro.  Nothing’s official till it’s Facebook official,” Clint said promptly, before frowning down at his plate.  “Aw, burger, no.”

Natasha didn’t even pause from devouring her onion rings as she removed her knife from her burger and pinned it through Clint’s, saving the onions and mushrooms from sliding off into the glop of hot sauce Clint was dragging his fries through.  He gave her a dopey grin and blew her an air kiss before stealing a piece of Sam’s pizza while Sam reached for the hot wings.

“They have been together for, like, ever,” Tony nodded, doing an eerily good imitation of Darcy’s inflection.  “And that is why they need a fucking ship name already.  Institutions need ship names.”  
“How about ‘In It for the FAFSA’?” Natasha supplied.  
Sam cackled.  “’FAFSA was a Convenient Excuse’ is more like it,” he replied, grinning as he bumped fists with a faintly smiling Nat.  
“Really?  They seriously got married for the FAFSA?” Darcy asked, interest piqued.  “Why have you people been holding out the good stories on me, I thought you loved me.”  
“Go get yourself a beer, it’s a good one,” Clint grinned.  “I’ll even clear you space on the table so you can headtable good and proper.”  
“You’re so good to me,” Darcy smiled, bouncing over to the bar and happily pulling herself a draft of Sam Adams before rejoining her people and sliding in next to Natasha.  “Spill.”  
Sam beamed, his devastating gap-toothed grin on full display. “Well, it started like this…”


	2. In it for the FAFSA [or Something]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it came to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know fuck-all about military, medical, or academic bureaucracy as pertains to financial aid paperwork or conditions for discharge versus retention. Nor do I care to attain anything approaching verisimilitude. Put on your suspenders of disbelief for me, y’all. Fluff waits for no fact-checking!

_Three Years Ago---_

“Fuck.  Fuck!  Fuck, shit and damn it all!  Cocksucking motherfucking bastard son of a syphilitic _whore_!”

Ah, the dulcet tones of Steve’s childhood lullabies.

“Havin’ issues, Buck?” he asked mildly.

Glancing up from his art history textbook, Steve was met with the sight of his best friend scowling – or maybe more accurately _sulking_ – on the floor.  He was surrounded by messy heaps of paperwork – college applications, financial aid paperwork, loan paperwork, his Army status documentation and GI Assistance papers, as well as his service and civilian medical paperwork, his phone, his tablet and laptop, and also for some reason Steve’s laptop, and no less than seven mugs of coffee in various states of hot and consumed.  Upon taking in the disorganized chaos, Steve huffed in exasperation.  Never mind Army barracks; how the fuck had Bucky survived Mrs. Barnes and her insistence on military grade cleanliness?

Bucky huffed in response, shooting Steve a look of outraged betrayal before tapping the metal fingers of his prosthetic on the hardwood floor, the signal for his therapy wolf [Steve refused to call an animal as massive as the Russian wolfhound a dog] to trot over to him.  Talia plopped down nearly in Bucky’s lap, panting happily as Bucky wrapped his arms around her solid bulk.  Steve drew a breath, hiding the sympathetic flinch that Bucky would bristle at.  But it was a good sign that Bucky had remembered to call for Talia before he lost control of his emotions.  More often than not, that ended with Bucky dissociating and falling into flashbacks, and any time they could avoid that was a good thing.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, staying seated only by force of will as he waited for a sign from his best friend whether an approach would be welcome.  
Bucky huffed.  “Fuckin’ paperwork,” he muttered.  “None of it makes a goddamn lick’a sense, Stevie.”

Steve quirked a smile, sitting on the ground close by as Bucky tried to bury himself in Talia’s side.

“Ain’t your counselor supposed to be helpin’ with all this mess?” Steve asked, the Brooklyn showing as it always did when he sensed a fight brewing.  
“She’s tryin’,” Bucky said, picking up Steve’s accent without thought.  “It’s jus’ complicated,” he finished weakly, rubbing at his scarred, strained left shoulder.

Steve sighed, acknowledging the fact.  Bucky had enlisted in the Army right out of high school as a way to help his ma with the bills.  He’d served well, rising quickly through the ranks until he was the NCOIC of his whole battalion.  When he and Steve were reunited a few years later – after Steve got four recruitment rejections and then _finally_ got his growth spurt, gaining seven inches and a whole bunch of muscles – they shared two hellish tours in Afghanistan and Iraq.  Then, that horrendous day…  The IED, their team pinned down by enemy fire, the screaming, Bucky’s arm blown to bits…

No one would have blamed Bucky for walking away, for taking his honorable discharge and his Purple Heart and his hazard pay, retreating as far from Uncle Sam’s reach as possible.  And Bucky had seriously considered it; what use did anyone have for a one-armed, broken soldier who could no longer serve as a sniper?  But in the end, Bucky hadn’t been able to go home, to leave his unit behind.  He’d worked out a miracle of a deal with Colonel Phillips to serve as a prototype tester for a Stark Medical prosthetic, and to act as handler for the unit codenamed the Howling Commandoes through the end of their current deployment.

Upon coming home, the Army had sent the eight-man – pardon, eight- _person_ [Peg would have none of this “man” nonsense] unit to separate bases for additional training in anticipation of their next deployment.  And so here Bucky and Steve sat, in their offbase apartment in Kirby, Virginia; awaiting their next orders and struggling through multiple organizations’ worth of administrative red tape, trying to get their [especially Bucky’s] financial situation sorted.

“Have you talked to Nat?” Steve suggested.

Bucky’s sister Natasha, in addition to somehow balancing an intense academic schedule with her double major in Dance and Golden Age Russian Literature, also had a student job in the finance department – a job which granted her access not only to the quietly formidable VP of Finance, but also the Provost and even the President.  If anyone knew of a way to cut through bureaucratic bullshit, it was Natasha Romanoff.

Honestly, she might be his best friend and platonic soulmate, but Nat fucking terrified Steve.

Bucky made a particularly eloquent face of irritation.  Steve couldn’t hold back a snicker.  Hand to the Lord, Steve didn’t understand Bucky and Nat’s relationship at all, but damn if it wasn’t entertaining.

“What’d she say?” Steve prodded.

Bucky grumbled, muttering beneath his breath into Talia’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak muffle,” Steve teased his best friend.  
Bucky huffed, blindly grabbing a pillow from his paper nest [how had Steve not seen the pillow?] and hurling it right into Steve’s face.  “Only way to get any sort of benefit from this clusterfuck is if I get married or have a kid.”  
Steve blinked, nonplussed.  “Huh.”  
“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, deflating a bit and poking one pile of paperwork with his toe.  
“Well…” Steve said slowly.  “That’s…  We could…”  
“What?”  
“We could do it,” Steve offered.  “Get married.”  
Bucky’s eyes flew up to his hairline.  “What?”  
“We could get married,” Steve repeated, the tips of his ears burning so much he was surprised his hair wasn’t catching fire.  
“Seriously?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing.  “You’d do that?”  
“Why not?” Steve asked, pushing through his embarrassment.  “I could use the FAFSA help too."  
“But…  But you’re Catholic!” Bucky burst out.  
“So?” Steve shrugged.  “Jesus was poor, He’d understand.”  
“But…  Really?  You’d really do this for me?” Bucky asked uncertainly.  
“Buck, of course I would,” Steve rushed to assure him.  “You’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you.  You know that.”  
“Yeah, but marriage-”  
“What would it change, really?”  Steve asked, warming to his theme.  “We’ve lived in each other’s pockets since were kids, been livin’ together since high school.  At the end of the day, it’s just a piece of paper.  And FAFSA aid.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, silently calling Steve out on his lie.  Steve rolled his eyes in response.

"It’s not like I’m likely to have a big church wedding in any case,” Steve defended himself.  
“Yeah, but what if you find some dame you wanna settle down with?” Bucky argued.  
Steve scoffed.  “Right, like I’m ever gonna be able to talk to a girl.”  
“You managed it once,” Bucky pointed out.  “For a whole two years, even.”  
“Yeah, but Peg’s different,” Steve shrugged.  “We were never… like that.  I was just keepin’ her company till she got home to Angie.”

Bucky tilted his head, conceding the point.  Then a lock of his hair fell in his face, and he pushed it back with an aggravated growl.

Steve swallowed, fingers twitching convulsively as the stubborn lock fell back over Bucky’s eyes.  As Bucky wrestled his unruly hair into a bun, Steve’s eyes helplessly traced the line of Bucky’s jaw, his clavicle, the scarred, numb line where flesh met metal… and he clenched his jaw against the slow-burning flame of _want_ in his gut.  How long had he lived with this primal, yearning ache burning away in his core?  Most of his life now?  It was already a constant companion, had been since they moved in together; how much worse could getting fake-married-for-the-FAFSA make it?

“So… yeah.  Let’s just do it,” he blurted out, struggling to keep his voice even.  “If it makes our lives easier… why not?”

Famous last words.


	3. The Life and Times of Philip J. Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only Tony Stark could derail Phil Coulson's carefully managed schedule this early on a Tuesday.

At 8:00 a.m. on the dot, Philip J. Coulson walked through the doors of the Administration Building, bizarrely referred to by students as The Raft.  He climbed the two flights of stairs and walked right into the kitchen.

At 8:03 a.m. he pressed 7 on his speed dial and had a conversation with Howard Stark regarding the burned-out heap of scraps that used to be Max, the sentient office coffeemaker.  Phil made a point of reminding Howard that he was currently only allowed one cup of coffee per day, and presently he was unable to enjoy that one cup.  He was sure that a fellow coffee enthusiast like Howard would appreciate the dilemma in which Phil now found himself.

At 8:06 a.m. Phil sat down at his desk and opened his inbox.

At 8:07 a.m. he briefly considered running away to Tahiti so he would no longer have to worry about adjusting his carefully balanced budget to accommodate the emergency renovations to the robotics wing of the Howard Stark Industrial Sciences Building.

At 8:13 a.m. a Stark Industries courier arrived to install a new, non-sentient, fireproof coffeemaker, as well as to deliver Howard’s typical apology bribe of a large hand-ground, drip-brewed Ospina bean coffee and a cherry Danish.  Phil decided against Tahiti.  For now.

At 8:30 a.m. the Finance Office opened for business, and Natasha appeared in Phil’s doorway with his schedule, one cup of Greek yogurt, and an orange.  She stood guard over the door under the guise of reading his reminders, while actually watching to be sure that every disgusting, bland mouthful of yogurt made its way into his mouth.

From 9:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m., Phil moved through a series of meetings, including three separate attempts by Susan from the Marketing and Communications Department to lobby for approval for funds towards attack ads against their bitter rivals, Redschyll University.  [Not that Phil disapproved in theory, given Redschyll’s recent tacit endorsement of neo-Nazism as a legitimate voice of political dissent.  But really, weren’t there better things to attack than their school mascot, the decidedly Not A Hydra his goddaughter had lovingly nicknamed Skully the Hexapus?]

At 1:00 p.m. Phil left his office to walk across campus to the cafeteria, lovingly referred to by the students as The Fridge.

At 1:19 p.m. Phil gave up on the frankly concerning gelatinous mess he’d been assured was cream of mushroom soup, and snuck off campus for a burger, shake, and fries as greasy as he could get his hands on.

At 1:59 p.m. Phil returned to his office, bravely facing down Natasha’s disapproving glare.  How she always knew when he was cheating on his doctor-prescribed diet, Phil did not know.  Phil did know not to piss off his daughter, however, and silently accepted the Tupperware container of salad she pulled from her bag.  He didn’t object to the fact that there was no dressing; he took it as his justified punishment.

At 2:16 p.m. Phil put down the remains of the salad with a sigh, straightened his tie, and sat down to face the inbox Natasha had so kindly triaged for him.

At 5:15 p.m. Natasha stuck her head in the door and reminded him that she and James both had evening classes, so he was on his own for dinner.  Her eyebrows silently dared him to eat anything other than the carefully portioned casserole she had left in the fridge, but Phil knew better than to try her twice in one day.  Natasha then cruelly refused his offer to trade jobs, laughing as she left him to his spreadsheets and charts.

At 7:30 p.m. Phil took one look at his files and promptly walked out of the office, texting as he left.

At 7:50 p.m. Phil sat down in his preferred booth at the Tower, uncuffed his sleeves and rolled them precisely twice, and loosened his tie as he leaned back.

At 7:53 p.m. Darcy sashayed over, took one look at him, and flinched.

“Jeeeeesus, Phil.  That bad?”  
“A round of mango margaritas, please, Darcy.  Large.”  
“Ouch.  The usual sides?”  
“Please.  And a gin martini.”  
“Oooh, the full Bitch Brigade today.  On it!”

Phil rolled his eyes as Darcy bounced off, not bothering to correct her insulting nickname because, well… it wasn’t inaccurate.  A few minutes later, the door opened, and a long black trenchcoat majestically fwooshed its way to Phil’s table, sitting with a final flare.  The Coat’s bearer raised an eyebrow at him.

“How the fuck do you already need a midnight margarita meeting, Phil?  It is 8 o’clock on a goddamn Tuesday!”  
“Tony Stark.”

A beat of silence, then Fury nodded as he shrugged off the Coat.

“Did you put the order in?”  
“Drinks and sides,” Phil confirmed.  
"Good man."  
"Thank you, sir."

A few moments later, Darcy returned with the first round of margaritas, chips and salsa, and onion rings, just as the front door opened to admit the Provost and Academic Dean.  Provost Hill strode over, grabbing a glass and the pitcher to pour herself a generous slug, downing half of it in one long gulp.

“Jesus, Mom.  At least sit down first,” Darcy chided, handing off the rest of the glasses before leaning down to peck Dean Hand’s cheek.  “Hi, Momma.”  
“Hello, baby,” Victoria smiled, tweaking a lock of Darcy’s hair as her daughter set the martini down for her.  “How was your presentation?”  
“Got delayed till Thursday,” Darcy cheerfully reported.  “Thor started waxing philosophic again and he and Sitwell got into it about feudalism versus clanship in the medieval Scandinavias.  Again.”  
Maria blinked.  “How-?  You’re studying the Cold War!”  
Darcy shrugged.  “Never underestimate Thor Odinson’s ability to drag the glorious legacy of his Viking ancestors into any conversation.”

With a cheerful salute, Darcy headed back into the kitchen, leaving the adults to their commiserating.

“Rough day, Maria?” Phil inquired.  
Maria grimaced.  “I got roped into the academic council meeting.  Three hours of my life I’ll never get back.”  
Phil blinked, turning to look at Victoria.  “How-?”  
“I am very persuasive,” Victoria purred, a self-satisfied smile gracing her full lips.  
“I hate you so much and I swear I will make you pay,” Maria grumbled, shooting her wife a dirty glare.  
“Mmm, promise?”

Rolling his eyes, Phil turned to Nick, desperate to avoid watching another round of Victoria and Maria’s bizarre, fucked-up foreplay.

“You’re sure I can’t have Stark disappeared?” he asked plaintively.  
“Hell, I’d fully support that and give you a raise,” Nick scoffed.  “Little pissant hacked into my computer and locked me out.  Again.”  
“We off Junior and we lose donation money,” the ever-pragmatic Maria pointed out in between slurps of her second margarita.  “Just sic Rhodes on him.”  
“Rhodes encourages the little shit,” Nick grumbled.  
“I heard from Hank that Reed Richards was involved,” Victoria offered.  
“ _What_?!” Maria snapped, with a glare to match Nick’s.  “Who in the gotdamn hell let Richards and Stark in the same room?”  
“Did I or did I not expressly forbid them to be within 50 yards of each other after the Jam Incident?” Fury asked at the same time.

The foursome shuddered at the reminder, each taking a healthy slug of their drinks.

“I’ll look into it,” Maria promised.  “Do we know how long building repairs’ll take?”  
“Structural repairs, a few weeks, if the weather holds.  Cosmetic and equipment replacement, we’re probably looking at a couple of months,” Phil grimaced.  
Fury blinked.  “Stark without a lab for a couple of months?”

The four looked at each other in silent horror.

“Find him space,” Nick ordered, utter dread permeating his words.  “I don’t care if it’s a damn broom closet, get him a lab space and come up with something to occupy him.  I cannot have a bored Stark roaming loose on my campus.”  
Phil sighed morosely into his empty glass.  “This is going to involve _so much_ paperwork.”


End file.
